


Heliocentric

by hilaryfaye



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 10:51:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/649757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hilaryfaye/pseuds/hilaryfaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anderson buys a gag gift for Sherlock... with a special plan in mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heliocentric

Sherlock had thought the lollipops were a juvenile gift, until he noticed what they were made to look like. “Is this a joke?” he asked Anderson, a sharp edge to his voice.

Anderson smirked. “You didn’t think I could let an opportunity like that pass me by, did you?” 

Each lollipop represented a planetary body—though the sun was included. “Bloody hell,” Sherlock muttered, looking at them. “What’s the point?”  
  
Sherlock disliked the smug grin on Anderson’s face. Whenever Anderson had that grin he was up to something, and this was one of the rare instances where he knew something Sherlock didn’t—which Sherlock hated even more. “What?” he asked warily.  
  
Anderson’s smile widened. “What—the great Sherlock Holmes can’t deduce what I’ve got planned?”  
  
“Don’t mock me, Anderson, answer the question.”  
  
Anderson stood, taking the box out of Sherlock’s hands. John was out with his latest girlfriend, and Mrs. Hudson had gone out with Mr. Perkins. They had the flat to themselves.   
  
Anderson circled Sherlock’s chair, pulling out the last of the lollipops—there were ten in all. “We have, what, an hour before your flatmate or your landlady comes back?”  
  
“An hour and twenty minutes, at the very least.”  
  
“You don’t get fucked until you can name each of these.” Subtlety was not Anderson’s strong suit. It was for the better—Sherlock couldn’t stand people who tried to be coy.  
  
Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. “Why would that be at all amusing to you?”  
  
“I like watching you suffer,” Anderson replied, regarding the lollipop. “Name them, in order, and I might give you what you want.”  
  
Sherlock was already fidgeting at the thought of being denied. Anderson wouldn’t dare leave here without sex, would he? It worried Sherlock that he didn’t know. Anderson may have been a dolt, but he could prove to be quite unpredictable when it came to shagging.   
  
“You’re not serious.”  
  
“I am.”  
  
Sherlock tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. Anderson noticed with a smirk. He ran his tongue around the lollipop, knowing Sherlock was watching his every move. Sherlock cursed and snatched the lollipop out of Anderson’s hand, scrutinizing the pictured planetary body. It didn’t help his fidgeting that it now glistened.  
  
There had to be a method to remembering this, even if he had ‘deleted’ the solar system. Perhaps a memory of it was still lurking in his mind palace, and would allow him to name these stupid things.  
  
Anderson pulled his chair next to Sherlock, trailing his fingertips over Sherlock’s thigh with a smirk. Those damned pianist’s fingers, tracing over the fabric of his slacks, were doing nothing to help Sherlock’s concentration. He forced himself to concentrate, going back to primary school. What was this bloody thing called?  
  
Anderson drew patient circles across Sherlock’s thigh, working gradually upwards and in. Sherlock involuntarily sucked in a breath, gritting his teeth. No matter how hard he tried, there were parts of the physical that could not be overwhelmed by the mental. Not without drugs that had long been forbidden to him, anyway.  
  
He could remember what these stupid planets looked like anyway—he could see the teacher’s poster on the wall, behind her desk. He remembered days spent staring past it, to the window, wishing to be anywhere but trapped with these ‘normal’ people who wanted nothing to do with him, the ‘normal’ people who hated him.  
  
He almost dropped the lollipop, involuntarily swatting Anderson’s hand away. Anderson—almost mercifully-mistook it as frustration. “Now that’s no way to react. You haven’t even tried.”  
  
Sherlock frowned and focused on the box of lollipops again, trying to recall the poster without the other memories. “They included the sun, I notice.”  
  
“One down, nine to go,” Anderson murmured, running his fingers through Sherlock’s hair. Sherlock hated to admit it, but Anderson could play him just as well as he played that bloody piano he was so fond of. Sherlock gritted his teeth, fidgeting and scowling at the box in his lap. His trousers were growing uncomfortably tight, and he became aware of the very real danger that Anderson might leave him high and dry if he didn’t name the lollipops.  
  
That only made his arousal worse. He was starting to get frantic.  
  
He could visualize the poster. He could see the planets, in order, from the sun to the smallest, but what were their bloody names?  
  
Anderson nuzzled his throat, leaving small, hot kisses on Sherlock’s skin. Sherlock’s pulse picked up as he ran his fingers over the lollipop wrappers, trying desperately to remember their names. He would make Anderson pay for this, somehow.   
  
“Having a hard time?” Anderson drawled, his hand coming back to squeeze Sherlock’s thigh.  
  
“Don’t make innuendos, Anderson, they’re not your strong point.”  
  
He gritted his teeth, focusing on the memory of that poster as Anderson’s hands crept upward.   
  
“Mercury!” he snapped. “Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, and Pluto which was recently reclassified as a dwarf planet!” He threw the box aside and twisted in his chair, grabbing the front of Anderson’s shirt. “Tell me I got it right.” He knew his face was flushed, from how hard his heart was hammering in his chest. His breath came in aroused pants.  
  
Anderson looked far too smug. “Took you long enough. I thought you were supposed to perform well under stress.”  
  
“Shut up and deliver on your promise.” Sherlock ran his palm down the front of Anderson’s shirt.  
  
“So needy,” Anderson mocked.  
  
“Anderson.”  
  
Anderson looped his fingers through Sherlock’s belt and tugged him onto his feet, pulling him after him to the bed. Anderson wasn’t one for shagging in spaces that weren’t strictly private. He roughly shoved Sherlock onto the bed, knowing Sherlock resented that manhandling.  
  
Anderson didn’t want his subs to just give in. He liked Sherlock because Sherlock had to be mastered. Sherlock dragged him down, capturing him with a kiss. He knew Anderson had a weakness for his mouth, for his lips. Anderson groaned, catching a handful of hair. He tugged, pulling Sherlock’s head back and exposing his throat. Sherlock gulped, Anderson’s mouth trailing down to his collar bone.  
  
Anderson’s thigh was between his legs—Sherlock rocked his hips against it, his cock aching for attention. Wasn’t it enough that he’d had to remember the bloody solar system? Did he have to wait again?  
  
Anderson stopped, shoving Sherlock back and pinning his hips down to the bed. Sherlock hated the high pitched whine that escaped his throat. He hated that Anderson had that kind of power over him, that he wanted Anderson so badly.  
  
“Didn’t you learn your lesson from last time?” Anderson whispered.  
  
Sherlock tried to free himself. Anderson reached for the nightstand drawer, pulling out the handcuffs. Sherlock’s breath caught in his throat as Anderson forced his hands up over his head, cuffing him to the headboard. Doing so required Anderson to straddle his waist, and Sherlock bucked against his arse at the first opportunity.   
  
“And here I have Sherlock Holmes, the world’s only consulting detective, begging to be fucked,” Anderson said, smirking.  
  
Sherlock scowled. “Idiot,” he spat.  
  
“Is that the best you’ve got? You must be out of your mind. All the blood’s gone to your cock.”  
  
Sherlock growled under his breath, straining against the cuffs. “Just fuck me.”  
  
“Is that begging I hear?”  
  
Sherlock gritted his teeth. “Yes, damn it. I’m begging.” Oh, he’d make Anderson pay.   
  
Anderson took his dear, sweet time removing Sherlock’s clothes. The shirt he settled for unbuttoning, rather than uncuffing Sherlock to get it off of him. He paused over Sherlock’s trousers, dragging his tongue from the top of the trousers up to Sherlock’s throat. Sherlock groaned and arched his back.  
  
Anderson unbuttoned Sherlock’s trousers while his mouth was fastened against Sherlock’s throat. Sherlock knew precisely what was going on—he was being marked as Anderson’s. Owned. Sherlock groaned again, the power dynamics playing through his head.  
  
He told himself that all of this was transport, unimportant—but like food and water and air there were other parts of the physical that simply could not be denied, and this had something of the psychological. It was a part of himself that he didn’t entirely understand, a part of himself that frightened him as much as it excited him.  
  
He would never have indulged in it if he didn’t implicitly trust Anderson.  
  
He almost laughed at himself—there would be people who were startled to learn that he trusted Anderson at all, let alone enough to explore… whatever this was.  
  
Sherlock was startled out his thoughts by the hand grasping his cock. He gasped, twisting against his restraints, eyes shut in startlement and arousal. “Aaaaaahhaa…”  
  
The way Anderson kissed him was almost tender, the fingers of his free hand buried in Sherlock’s hair, thumb rubbing Sherlock’s cheek. Sherlock was overwhelmed with sensation. It was a different kind of data than what he was used to, but incredible in its own right. The sensations of touch and taste and sound and smell and sight all arcing through his neural pathways, lighting up his brain like a fireworks display.  
  
Anderson paused, running a hand down Sherlock’s side. Sherlock shivered, his eyes hazy. “What are you waiting for?”  
  
Anderson finished removing Sherlock’s trousers and pants, running his hands along Sherlock’s thin legs. The first time Anderson had seen Sherlock naked had scared the hell out of him. What? Sherlock had demanded at the shocked look on his face.  
  
The last time I saw someone that underweight they were a corpse. Anderson could thank Watson for the fact that least Sherlock ate somewhat regularly now, though he could still stand to put on a little more weight. He kissed his way down Sherlock’s torso, and then slid his mouth over the head of Sherlock’s cock.  
  
Sherlock sucked in a breath, biting his lip. Anderson’s tongue was everywhere at once, making the most sinful sensations. He hated that he moaned again. It was so embarrassingly not the kind of thing he did. Anderson seemed pleased by it, though.   
  
Sherlock arched his hips up, moaning, almost ready to come, when suddenly Anderson pulled back.  
  
“What the hell are you doing?” Sherlock panted, scowling.  
  
Oh, he hated the smirk on Anderson’s face. “Are we heliocentric or geocentric?”  
  
“Anderson—”  
  
“Answer the question correctly or I go make myself a nice cup of tea and leave you chained to the bed until Watson gets home and finds you.”   
  
Sherlock gritted his teeth. Oh, he would make Anderson pay for this.   
  
Heliocentric or geocentric.  
  
Heliocentric or geocentric.  
  
Bah! What was it John had said? He’d deleted most of that bloody conversation, it was pointless—  
  
Solar system.  
  
“Heliocentric,” he spat, aggravated. “It’s fucking heliocentric.”  
  
Anderson ducked his head down again, putting that mouth to good use. Sherlock gasped and twisted against the handcuffs, aching to twist his fingers in that hair. His entire body tensed and he moaned into the pillow, endorphins flooding his system as he ejaculated.  
  
Anderson kissed the flat of his stomach  and smirked up at him.  
  
“Shut up,” Sherlock said.  
  
“I didn’t say anything.”  
  
“You’re making a smug face. It’s annoying.” Sherlock moved his hands anxiously against the cuffs.   
  
“After that, I think I’ve earned the right to be smug.” Anderson reached up and undid the handcuffs, freeing Sherlock. Sherlock rubbed his wrists, relaxing in post-coital bliss. Anderson, he noted, still had all of his clothes on.  
  
That would have to change.   
  
And he was going to make Anderson pay.


End file.
